


The Battle For The Western Watchtower

by sheiruki



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action, Alternate Canon, Battle, Blood, Gen, Gore, Minor Character Death, More Violent Than Canon, Slightly - Freeform, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheiruki/pseuds/sheiruki
Summary: After reporting to the Jarl of Whiterun, Rethul is sent along to investigate a dragon attack on the Western Watchtower.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Battle For The Western Watchtower

**Author's Note:**

> I found a chapter of a currently dormant longfic among my WIPs. I once joked about Rethul’s performance during the battle of the Western Watchtower, but, to be honest, that must’ve been a horrifying ordeal.

_ Just what did I get myself into? _

When Rethul had arrived in Whiterun to warn the local jarl of the imminent dragon threat, he had imagined that his role in this crisis was going to end then and there, that he was going to waltz straight into Dragonsreach, report what happened in Helgen, and then go on his merry way away from fire breathing lizards and imperial executioners – preferably someplace warmer, too. But no, of course, it would not. A dragon just had to attack the Western Watchtower and the jarl just had to have the brilliant idea of sending him along with his guards and his trusted housecarl.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful,“ muttered Rethul as he put on „his“ armour: a spare from the town guard’s armoury. The chestpiece was way too broad for Rethul’s untrained frame whereas the collar cut into his neck, bruising the area. The helmet fit loosely and bopped around on his head whenever he moved. The guards, in contrast, were awfully tight in all the wrong places and Rethul wondered how he was supposed to run, let alone fight, in that sorry excuse for protection.

He picked up the sword they had left him and swung it around aimlessly.

“Heavier than it seems, right?“

When Rethul turned to the door he could see one of the guards standing in the frame. He was holding a surprisingly nice looking pair of leather boots.

“Much heavier. How do you guys manage to swing it like it’s nothing?“ questioned Rethul. Still amazed by the weight of the sword, he swung it again.

“Well, we train with it every day. At some point, you just get used to it.“ The guard shrugged.

“Irileth says you should hurry up. She wants us to arrive while the tower is still standing.“

“I’m not exactly eager to be eaten by a dragon.“

“Trust me, you’ll prefer the dragon to Irileth’s anger,“ the guard laughed. „Here, your boots.“ He placed them on the floor in front of Rethul. To his surprise, they fit just fine.

Outfitted completely, Rethul stepped outside and waddled towards the town gate, where the other guards were already waiting. Most had their faces obscured by metal helmets, but the ones Rethul did see spoke of pity. How many had bet on his demise?

As soon as he arrived, the guards set out in a hasty march. The Western Watchtower was only a short distance from Whiterun. Still, Rethul had trouble keeping up and soon fell behind.

“Wait!“

At this rate, he was going to be out of breath when it came to fighting the dragon.

“I can’t go that fast!“ he wheezed.

Two of the archers seemed to have heard him. They stopped walking and waited for Rethul to catch up.

“How did you survive Helgen if you don’t even have the stamina for marching?“ asked one of them. He was a tall man with broad shoulders whose face was hidden under a full metal helmet. Rethul questioned how he was supposed to see where he was shooting.

“Don’t be so harsh on him, Troels,” reprimanded the other archer. He was shorter and much more compact than his comrade. His face was not hidden and Rethul admired the man’s glorious moustache.

“I see you’re a man of style,“ said Rethul and twirled one end of his own.

“I can only return the compliment,“ laughed the archer. “Name’s Svadir. And you are?“

“Rethul,“ he replied and reached out.

Svadir shook his hand with way more force than Rethul had anticipated and he had trouble forcing a straight face while his fingers were being crushed.

“Troels,“ said the other archer.

The three hurried up a bit; the vast Whiterun tundra spread out before them.

"What was it like? Helgen, I mean,“ asked Svadir.

"Well, I had a lovely date with an imperial executioner and just as my head was placed on the chopping block, woosh, there it was: A flying monstrosity with scales black as night. The headsman was so startled he let go of his axe and nearly beheaded me anyway,“ Rethul laughed. „After that, things got crispy. I and a man in a blue tabard - I think that means he’s a Stormcape or something - escaped through the dungeons beneath the town. Of course, that did not mean we were out of danger. There were soldiers there. And worse. Torturers! Would you believe that? Above our heads the world was ablaze and they were down there, continuing their grisly work,“ Rethul shook his head. „Thanks to my bravery we did make it through though.“

"And then you came directly to Whiterun?“

"No, no. I don’t even last until the Western Watchtower, so how could I manage to survive the way to Whiterun? From Helgen? I’d die of exhaustion!“

"Look! There it is!“ Troels pointed at the distance.

Before them, the Western Watchtower rose above the horizon. The smoke coming from within made it look like an overly large chimney; as they got closer Rethul could see flames scorching the ground around it.

The group took shelter behind a rock a short distance from the smouldering tower.

“Is the new recruit here as well or did we lose him on the way?“ asked Irileth. Her dedication to her post and her prowess in battle made the stern dunmer woman renown among her soldiers. And feared.

Rethul swallowed. „Reporting for duty!“ he announced with a dry throat and tugged on his helmet. She squinted, mustering him. Could she hear his fear? Or maybe she wondered how he managed to survive Helgen. She had every reason to.

Finally, her attention turned to her soldiers.

"There is no doubt the dragon was here,“ she declared. "See if there are any survivors, but remember, the dragon is our priority!“

Like ants, the soldiers dutifully scattered around the watchtower searching rocks and rubble. Rethul complied and started looking as well. He was climbing over stones and debris when he saw something shimmering from under some bricks. He removed them and found a fairly battered helmet – thankfully without its contents.

Rethul shuddered. These soldiers had had experience and fortifications. Now they were dead. What chance, then, did he and the others stand with nothing but a smouldering ruin to serve as shelter – a shelter that might well turn into a deathtrap. There was no way they were going to kill the dragon! No way!

A familiar roar ripped him out of his thoughts.

"Here it comes!“, he heard Irileth shout.

Truly, there it was. A dragon – but not the one from Helgen. This one was smaller. Not that it mattered; the beast was going to kill him either way.

Rethul glanced around. The archers were readying their bows. Among them, Svadir and – what was his name again? The look on their faces, however, betrayed his eagerness for battle. Those hidden behind helmets were given away by nervous fiddling with various buckles or insecure sword swinging. Only Irileth stood firm and focused.

“Move – now!” she commanded while unsheathing her sword. Her soldiers and Rethul followed suit. The first arrows were shot but did nothing to affect the flying terror. The dragon swooped down and at that moment, one thought hit them all.

“Run!”

Rethul moved as quickly as he could with the heavy armour weighing him down. He stumbled and fell.

_ This is it _ , he thought solemnly.  _ This is how I’m going to die. _

Behind him, he could feel a heat so intense and unbearable he thought he was being boiled alive. When he eventually managed to stand up and turn around, the grass where they had stood just moments before was engulfed in a terrible blaze. A few of the soldiers were scrambling away, trying to reorganize themselves. Irileth was nowhere to be seen. Above, the dragon prepared another attack.

“To the tower, quickly!”

The voice of the dunmer commander echoed from behind a thick wall of smoke. Rethul did as he was told and bolted over to the watchtower. The crumbled walls offered shelter – or a good place to hide. He thought about the battle and the chaos it brought. Would anyone notice if he slipped away?

“Hey! Rethul!”

“Huh, yes? “

Svadir was looking down at him from atop the stairs of the tower.

“Help the others keep this thing busy.”

And with that, he was gone.

Rethul took a peek from behind his shelter. Irileth and her men were fighting the dragon in close combat.

_ Even if I were to crawl, they’d notice. _

Slowly, he dragged himself out of his hiding place and made his way up to his comrades. The dragon was clawing at its attackers and swinging its tail around furiously. Its mighty head lunged out and grabbed the guard in front of it, swinging the poor soldier from side to side. With every swing, the soldier screamed louder. Shriller. His agony culminated in an utterly inhuman screech that was abruptly silenced by a grisly crunching sound, breaking through steel and, Rethul swallowed, much worse. The beast flung its helpless victim towards him. He wanted to evade, but the heavy armour would not let him. The weight of the soldier knocked him back against a crumbled wall. Rethul forced his eyes shut, terrified of what he might see. Through the joints of his armour, some warm fluid was seeping into his garment followed by the heavy stench of copper.

“Don’t let it be what I think it is. Please don’t let it be what I think it is.”

He repeated his mantra over and over, wanting nothing more than to disappear.

_ This is all too much! Stop! Please, something - someone, make it stop! _

His prayers were answered; a strong arm pulled him out from under the body. Startled, Rethul’s eyes burst open and what he saw made him scream in utter horror: before him lay the corpse of the guardsman. His signature yellow tabard was drenched in blood and in place of his stomach, a labyrinth of intestines stretched across the ground. Rethul screamed and screamed and continued screaming until his rescuer slapped him across the face. It was that other archer - Troels.

“Snap out of it and help us get that thing back up into the air!” he barked and ran to aid another soldier.

Rethul did not understand.

_ Why do they want it to fly? _

The world before him became enveloped in flames and the nauseating stench of burning flesh filled the air. His heart was racing, his breath ragged. Bile was rising in his throat. Rethul swallowed, fighting the desperate urge to vomit. Screams, so shrill and unnatural that he wanted to rip off his ears, echoed across the battlefield. At the edge of his vision, a Whiterun guard stumbled towards a pile of rubble. Flames were eating at his body until he eventually stopped moving and collapsed.

Rethul was shaking. His eyes were burning from tears and smoke.

_ Run _ , he thought.  _ I have to run. _

He clenched his fist around his sword.

_ Get away! _

He stepped towards the dragon. The monster stomped and the ground shook beneath his feet.

_ Flee! _

He lurched forward and, with all his might, rammed his sword between the dragon’s claws. The beast roared in pain and shook its huge wings, sending Rethul flying backwards until his head met a few scattered bricks. The beast took off, the sword still stuck in his paw. It circled around the tower before noticing Svadir positioned at its peak. It flew one last circle before changing directions - towards the archer. From his position on the ground, Rethul could see how the dragon opened its mighty maw, readying another deadly blast.

_ No fire. Why is there no fire? _

The dragon began to tumble and waver flying dangerously close to -

With a desperate roar, it crashed into the watchtower. Quickly, Rethul pulled his helmet pack into position. Just in time; debris came crashing down all around him. When the dust finally cleared, a good chunk of the tower was gone.

_ Where is the dragon? _

Rethul struggled to get up. He had to find that dragon! He staggered over rubble and corpses, carefully evading the still-burning flame patches.

Finally, he found his fellow soldiers. And the dragon. Irileth stood on its head, her sword firmly lodged between the monster’s scales. Her hair clung to her forehead, glued to it by a mix of blood and sweat. Her cuirass was stained red, but the blood did not seem to be her own. A triumphant smile was painted on her face.

“Comrades!”, she ripped her sword from the dragon’s skull and raised it towards the smoke-filled sky. “We killed a dragon!”

The soldiers cheered in unison. Irileth climbed off its head.

“But it’s not yet time to celebrate. Spread out! Find those who survived so that they might live to celebrate with us!”

But before the soldiers could obey, something else caught their attention.

“Wha-“

“What’s happening?!?”

“Look! The dragon – it’s glowing!”

And indeed, as soon as Rethul approached, it started glowing stronger and stronger, until it was entirely enveloped in blinding light. The dragon was dissolving!

Rethul could not help himself. His feet moved on their own. One step, then another, drawn to the dragon like a moth to a flame.

“Don’t get too close!”

_ Did somebody say something? I could’ve sworn there was- _

Rethul felt as though the ground had been ripped from under his feet. Strange images flooded his mind. He saw clouds, but not high up in the sky, no, from above. He was flying! He was soaring through the air. Free. Powerful. Mighty. “Fus” reverberated in his mind, pounding in his ears.

_ What does that mean? _

“Fus”. It sounded so familiar; like a hazy childhood memory. He saw the Western Watchtower below him and flew closer. Arrows were shot by the brave soldiers fighting him, trying to bring him down.

_ How dare they?!? _

He wanted to dominate, to control, to burn them all. He opened his maw and prepared to spew fire, but instead was met with unbearable pain as an arrow pierced his jaw.

Rethul staggered and fell backwards, landing on his rump. His head hurt, waves of pain rolling over him.  _ Fus! Fus! Fus! _

“Are you all right?, Irileth crouched to help him up and pull him back on his feet.

_ Fus!  _ He needed to let it out, needed to say it, scream it lest it burst out of his skull.

“Fus,” whispered Rethul and Irileth was thrown back, barely catching herself from falling.

“What was that?”

“How did you do that?”

“What kind of magic was that?”

The guards were fussing over him like a group of grandmothers over their newborn grandchild. The word “Dragonborn” travelled from mouth to mouth.

“Everyone, stand back!”, Irileth commanded.

She drew her sword and pointed it Rethul.

“Explain yourself!”

“I- I can’t explain!” Rethul put his hands up hoping she would accept his surrender.

“You’re a Dragonborn! A legendary hero who can kill dragons and steal their power!”

Rethul recognized that voice.

“Troels! Good to see you alive, my friend!” Rethul hoped he did not sound too exaggerated. “Could you tell her not to kill me? Please?”

Irileth sneered. He truly must have made for a pathetic image. She sheathed her sword. “Dragonborn or not, we have just slain a dragon. They can be killed, and that is all I need to know,” she turned her attention back to her soldiers. “Don’t rely on legends or prophecy! It doesn’t matter whether some mythical hero or a normal soldier puts a sword through its skull - a dead dragon is a dead dragon either way. That is all that matters!”

“You there,” she pointed at Troels. “Take your ‘Dragonborn’ back to Whiterun. Jarl Balgruuf needs to hear of this.”

The archer helped Rethul up, allowing the mer to lean on his broad frame. Dragonborn? That was far more than he could handle.


End file.
